


A New Day Dawning

by CatKing_Catkin



Series: Days and Steps [5]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Frigga, BAMF Frigga, Brother Feels, Brotherhood, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Character Death, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Feels, Freedom, Gen, Good Loki, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Internal Conflict, Jötunn Loki, King Thor, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, Marvel Norse Lore, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Odin's Good Parenting, Parent Frigga, Past Character Death, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Thor Angst, Thor Feels, Thor Is a Good Bro, Thor Needs a Hug, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatKing_Catkin/pseuds/CatKing_Catkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "A Day of Reckoning".</p><p>It's been two hundred and fifty years, and in the eyes of Asgard, Loki has paid his price for his crimes against the Nine Realms and emerged from his cell a better man. It's a tumultuous time for Loki to take his place back in the world, however, especially when he's no longer entirely certain what that place is. Who is he, if not a prisoner or a monster? What does it mean to be free?</p><p>A tragedy that hits much too close to home leaves the remnants of Asgard's royal family clinging all the more fiercely to each other in the midst of mourning. No one ever said that love came without pain or cost, after all.  And as Asgard prepares for the ascension of a new king, Loki wonders if he can really follow his brother this time without making the same mistakes all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> So, fair warning on a couple of points. First, is that the first half of this fic turned...pretty shamelessly fix-it ficcish for "Thor: The Dark World", despite not sharing a canonicity with it. That wasn't the initial intent, but as the story took form, it's the direction I wound up the most enthusiastic for despite otherwise having next-to-no experience or skill at fix-it fics. Still, those of you who had some of the same problems I did with the second movie will hopefully be particularly satisfied.
> 
> The second point is the "Major Character Death" warning attached to this fic. I am not kidding. This fic takes place two hundred and fifty years after the events of "The Avengers". A *lot* of people die. 
> 
> Also, this fic gets kind of...ridiculously sentimental and maybe even downright schmoopy at points. But god damn it, after fifty thousand words, I think these boys have earned their happy ending and I'm gonna bask in it. And, in case it hasn't been made clear, this is planned to be the last fic in the series. It seemed only fitting to end here.

Years turned into decades turned, eventually, into centuries, and Loki could usually only keep track of them by the knocks on his door. There wasn’t really much point to keeping track of them otherwise.

There was always the news that Thor brought, of course, and it was because of the news that Thor brought that Loki understood just why the last few decades had included far fewer trips to Earth. His brother had never managed to come out and admit it, of course, perhaps not even to himself. Loki, however, had always prided himself on keeping in mind just how brief mortal lives were. Even then he’d started to feel more than a bit appalled at just how many funerals Thor had attended within the last hundred years.

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton had been the first to die. Thor had made it a point to mention that they’d died together, and they’d died fighting well. They’d saved lives, and their funeral had been one of the best that Midgard could offer its warriors. Loki had appreciated the reassurance, such as it was. His reasons for caring were complicated, twisted, and wrong, but he did.

Tony Stark, the Man of Iron, had gone next. Although it was a fate he’d managed to avoid for a good long while, thanks to the prodigious funds at his disposal and the support of his friends, his body had finally given out due to drink. He’d left behind a legacy of medical breakthroughs, not to mention robotic and prosthetic development, that would give others who came after him an even better chance to fight for survival.

The monster that dwelled within Bruce Banner had not protected him forever. In fact, it had finally taken its price for doing so. The mortal body that held the Hulk had no longer been able to stand up to the strain of transformation and repair, and surrendered the fight. He’d apparently asked for his care to be ended, and smiled as he died.

The soldier out of time, Steve Rogers, had finally been caught by it. He’d lived far longer than any mortal would likely ever be able to claim, even setting aside his preservation in ice. And even after his body had no longer been able to heft his mighty shield, he’d still fought injustice in the world in his own way. He’d led by speech and example, a paragon of all that was good and right and just for all. The world had paused on the day he died.

The computer genius he’d only ever known as “Skye” had also lived to an almost unnaturally ripe old age, for a human. Jemma Simmons had died in a lab accident, and Leo Fitz had arranged to follow soon after. Grant Ward had rotted away in the dark. Melinda May had disappeared. Phil Coulson’s childhood hero would have been proud of the legacy he’d left in SHIELD before finally passing from the world for the last time.

All of these funerals, however, Loki had only heard about – sometimes years after the fact. They would sit together on a castle balcony or rooftop and Thor would tell him what he’d missed, outwardly moved on but inwardly quiet and somber in a way Loki knew to recognize. The threat of death, coming thick and fast by Asgardian standards, was weighing on Thor more and more, much as he tried to hide it.

Never had that been plainer to Loki than on the day of the one funeral he actually had attended. He had been there by Thor’s side when they buried Jane Foster, aged a meager ninety-three. No one had known they were there, because it had also been the one and only day Loki had been allowed out of his cell with full use of his magic. It had been done all for the purpose of concealing him and Thor from sight.

“They should not focus on me,” Thor had said by way of explanation. “I know they will, if I show my face. I don’t want to be the one to distract them from her. All she did. All she _meant_. I just…want to be there, and remember.”

Loki had understood, and so on that day, the two of them had been there, disguised as nothing more than a couple of college science students, with a perception glamour thrown over them for good measure so no one looked too long. He thought Darcy – now a fat old grandmother with three doting children, ten scampering grandchildren, and a deaf but devoted husband named Ian – might have guessed who they really were, but Darcy would have expected to see them there, and perhaps known why she wouldn’t see them as they were. The ceremony drew enough of a crowd that, ultimately, the perception glamour was probably unnecessary, even if the illusion itself was. He overheard more than a few wondering whispers about when Thor would turn up.

Mostly, the crowd was made up of Jane’s old students and researcher associates, her two adopted children and their children, and reporters. They sat or stood together under a slate-grey sky, listening to all the usual funeral rites and eulogies given by those who knew Jane well enough to give them. It was a respectful, almost reverent ceremony. Judging by Thor’s reactions, it was also a _proper_ one, which was important. Much as Loki had never understood the human tradition of burying the dead, it _was_ tradition here, and that was _important_. Few things were more important than paying proper due to the dead, especially when they’d earned it.

Jane certainly had.

Loki tried not to think too hard as the funeral proceeded on, but he’d never been the best at that. Despite himself, there were things he couldn’t help but remember. Despite himself, he knew he was mourning Jane Foster’s passing, too, no matter how damnably _human_ she had been and how idiotically _inevitable_ it had always been that this day would come.

Jane’s first words to him had been _“That was for New York.”_

Her last words, decades later, had been, _“We’ll have to do this again next year, kiddo.”_ They never had.

Loki wondered what her last words to Thor had been. He couldn’t bring himself to ask. One look at Thor was enough to reveal that his brother had more or less shut down, his focus torn entirely between taking in the scene and holding back the gathering rain. Whenever a warning roll of thunder set the guests to shifting nervously in their seats and glancing suspiciously up at the sky, Loki rested a hand lightly on Thor’s shoulder. Only then would his brother subside with a trembling sigh, only then would the smell of rain fade, and at those times would Loki wish all the more fervently for it all to be over.

He’d always known that this day would come, but that clearly wasn’t making it easier for either of them. Not when Loki didn’t understand, and not when Thor understood too much.

As this entire day existed to remind them both, however, all things eventually ended. The coffin was lowered into the ground and covered with shovelfuls of dirt. The guests lingered on a while longer after all the official words were said to say their own private farewells, to Jane and one another. The unified whole slowly broke down into their own separate groups all the same, however, and began to drift apart, back to their cars and their lives.

Loki and Thor waited on the very edge of things, leaning against a tree up on a slight rise that gave them a good view. Darcy still hobbled up to meet them, with her cane and the assistance of a grandchild, and the shock of being approached when this entire arrangement had been meant to prevent that happening meant that both brothers wound up freezing like deer in the headlights, barring Loki rather frantically looking back and forth between himself and Thor to make sure that his illusions were even still in place.

“Thank you both for coming,” Darcy said simply, while the two of them were trying to recover their wits. “It would have meant a lot to Jane, to know that you were here.”

Did she know? Loki found himself wondering. They were pleasant, polite, but ultimately empty words, words that he suspected she must have said a dozen times today. Then again, was there really a need to say anything else, even to them?

Then he saw the faint light of mischief in Darcy’s eyes, and he knew that she knew. She was just trying to help them keep their cover. Maybe she even understood why they were holding onto it.

Just this once, it was Thor who found his voice first. “We are very glad we could attend,” he said, his voice rough with the effort of swallowing his grief all day. Even Loki’s illusions couldn’t fully disguise that fact. “Jane was…a remarkable woman. We were all blessed to know her.”

“Yeah, we were. But knowing you was pretty cool, too.” She reached out as though to pat Loki on the shoulder, and then clearly remembered herself. Instead, she merely offered them both a broad smile, so that just for a moment the dark-haired intern that had once tricked Loki into eating popcorn with peanut butter showed through the withered face. “Take care of yourselves, boys.”

With that, she looked to her obviously puzzled grandchild and flicked them in the ear. “Come on, take me home! I’m not getting any younger, kid!”

Loki had a sense then, as he watched her walk away, that it was the last time he would ever see her. He thought it was a sense she must have shared.

No one else approached them, after that. No one else but the unfortunately confused grandchild could possibly have heard anything suspicious pass between them. Fortunately, not many people were still lingering by the graveside by then, and they didn’t have to wait much longer for a moment alone with the plot of freshly turned earth and the body that lay interred beneath it.

Thor moved forward like he was being towed on a line, heedless of anything else in the world around him. He even stumbled, making his way down the rise where they’d waited for the last long while. The sight of it made Loki’s heart twist traitorously in his chest, but he forced himself to follow at a slower pace, letting Thor go on ahead alone even if only for this short distance.

The rain had already started to fall by the time Thor slumped to his knees in front of the gleaming marble headstone. Thunder murmured more than roared, and lightning came as brief flashes in the dark clouds overhead. They were soft sounds, soothing and familiar sounds. With Loki standing this close, however, they didn’t do quite enough to hide the sound of Thor’s quiet sobbing. His back was to Loki, shoulders slumped, head bowed, hands clenched in the damp, freshly turned dirt as though in doing so he could cling to Jane Foster herself.

Loki stood at the edge of the grave, at a respectful distance from Thor and his ghosts. He tilted his head up towards the rain because he couldn’t stand to see his brother so broken and bowed and be unable to do anything about it.

He’d warned Thor that this day would come. Thor had ignored him, and they’d both wound up better men for it. This day had still been unavoidable.

Although there were still sounds of the world turning on around them – the thunder, the lightning, the rain, the rustling of leaves and grass, the crunch of gravel in the distance – the silence between them grew and grew until Loki felt like he was going to choke on it. So he finally asked the question that had been on his mind since this day began.

“Why did she let them bury her?” Even though he still resolutely refused to look at Thor, Loki turned his gaze down to the dirt instead. “Why not burn? It was no less than she deserved.”

When Asgard burned its dead, it was for the sake of freeing them from their discarded husks so that their souls could ascend to the stars. What possible purpose could humans serve by leaving their dead discarded in the ground? Loki could scarcely think of anything more disrespectful. Thor, however, had served as his guide to humanity in all their strangeness for over a hundred years now. Loki trusted that, even now, he had an answer for this.

He wasn’t disappointed. Thor still didn’t look up from the ground, but he spoke. “I asked her that myself, when we…when we knew this day was near. She said she wanted to be buried, Loki. She said she wanted maggots and worms to devour her body. She wanted them to go on to fuel the growth of grass and flowers and trees. They planted a tree in the ground here that her body will nourish from a seed as it withers away. Those plants will spread seeds and nourish animals, over and over again through the years, until, in time…a part of Jane will live on in all things in this world.”

Then, and only then, did Thor look up at Loki. There were tears in his eyes, and his smile was somehow one of the most miserable things Loki had ever seen.

“When she told me that, brother…I wanted to be buried beside her.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Perhaps there was nothing to say. There was, however, something to be done – there always was, where Thor was concerned.

That one thing was to kneel in the dirt beside Thor. Silently, because there was nothing that needed to be said, Thor leaned against Loki and Loki let him, just this once. He wrapped an arm protectively around Thor’s shoulders as though he could shield his older brother from everything, even if Loki had rarely felt so powerless.

* * *

He didn’t know, at the time, why his thoughts drifted back to that day, and all the days he’d heard about before and after it from Thor. It started off as just an ordinary day, or possibly night. It was hard to tell, down here in his cell, because there were no windows. The last couple of centuries had played merry hell with his sense of time.

All Loki knew that he was hard at work on yet another bundle of javelins. After crafting thousands of them, it was the sort of work where his mind could wander, his muscles barely felt the burn anymore, and he could shrug off the heat, but it was still something to do with his hands. Counting out the strokes and managing the heat of the metal was a form of meditation in its own right, by now.

When the knock came at the door, Loki didn’t even look up from his forge. He just waited for the slide of the little door set into the base of his cell door that always marked the sound of food, tools, or fresh ore being pushed through into his little domain. The only other alternative was that it was Thor, of course, but it wasn’t more often than it was.

Then the knocking resumed, as more of a hammering this time – insistent, continuous, and loud. That was enough to identify the one outside, although Loki still found himself at first puzzled, and then concerned. It was true that Thor was the only one who ever came down here alone. Even when other people accompanied him for the day, they were always accompanied by him. He could not, however, recall a time when Thor had arrived so frantically, upset in a way that translated loud and clear through knocking.

Despite the fresh anxiety churning in his stomach, however, Loki got to his feet and moved to the door. When he tried the handle, he found the cell door unlocked, as it always was when Thor came down to see him. Loki all but threw the door open and, sure enough, there was Thor on the other side, staring at him disheveled, breathless, and red-eyed.

“Loki,” Thor gasped, as though surprised to see him there, as though at a loss as to what to do next now that he’d found him. Then, as Loki stood there staring at Thor, the Thunderer seemed to…crumple. All the energy left him in a rush, and he had clearly been on his last legs to start with.

The anxiety in the pit of Loki’s stomach began to blossom into full-fledged alarm. “Thor,” he said, unable to keep his voice from trembling just a bit. He stepped nearer, over the threshold of his cell and near enough to rest a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “What’s happened? Brother, tell me. What’s wrong?” Was it another attack? Was Asgard in danger, was…?

Thor suddenly seized Loki’s hand in both of his, in a grip so fierce that it actually made Loki wince. “ _Loki_ ,” he said again. His voice was trembling badly now, betraying a sob, betraying such pain as Loki had not seen in him since that day by the grave. He bowed his head, eyes closed tightly, and pressed his forehead to Loki’s fingers. “Loki, oh, brother, I’m sorry. I should have…I should have come to you months ago. I should have told you sooner, but we kept hoping he would get better…”

 _No_.

The word seemed to echo in Loki’s mind, futile and weak, but he couldn’t stop himself. He felt the world crystallizing around him into shards of razor-sharp glass, he felt the ground beginning to crumble beneath his feet and leaving nothing but _Void_ beneath. If only to stave off the feeling of _falling_ , Loki stumbled forward, closing the distance between them as he reached out with a trembling hand for his brother. Because no, _no_ …

Then Thor hugged him, but even that was wrong. The gesture of affection was careful, even tentative. Thor normally moved with purpose when offering Loki any sort of physical affection, because they both knew that it was the sort of affection that Loki most easily accepted from him. Now, however, he moved as though Loki would break at the slightest touch, or perhaps as though he no longer trusted himself to do even this.

In that moment, Loki knew the truth, cold and certain, even before Thor forced the words out.

“He’s asked to see you, Loki. Once more before the end.”


	2. Dusk and Dawn

Odin was old. You might as well say that the sun rose in the east. They were both equally fundamental truths of the world. Odin had always been old. In Loki’s dimmest, most hazy memories, stretching back centuries, he couldn’t recall the man as ever being any other way.

As a result, at some point he’d forgotten that the passing of years had any effect on Odin at all. It was true that he’d been more tired and weak even before Loki was lost to the Void. Too many calamities and threats since then had only weakened him further. Even Odin’s strength could only stretch so far, especially when he bore the responsibility for all the Nine Realms on his shoulders even on an ordinary day when intergalactic war wasn’t looming.

All things ended. All things faded, from the lowliest fly to the universe itself.

All things died.

Now, the Allfather’s time had come.

No one paid any mind to Loki as he was led up and back into the castle proper, and through the halls leading to Odin’s chambers. Loki made sure they didn’t by throwing up the perception glamour meant to make anyone not specifically looking for him look the other way. It was just a trick of the mind, but it was one of his oldest ones, and he’d only gotten better at it in recent decades. Not because he’d had any particular reason to practice, of course, though he had tried to feel his way through a few new tricks. The truth of the matter, however, was that magic was as much a state of mind as anything, both the caster’s and the one being affected by the magic. The truth of the matter was that Loki’s imprisonment had become such a fact of life, his presence so rare and quiet even when it was there, that it was already easier to overlook him than it had ever been. His magic just provided that little extra nudge to help people keep looking away.

There were exceptions, of course. There were the ones who had come to see him even more clearly since this all began. One of those exceptions was striding on ahead of him. The other was waiting by the great double-doors to Odin’s chambers.

“Loki,” Frigga breathed, coming forward to meet her two sons. Her hands were fluttering nervously, as though she wasn’t sure whether to hug one child or the other or both, whether to urge Loki into the room or hold him back, whether she wanted to tear at her hair or bury her face in her hands.

Loki finally chose for her, by stepping forward and taking her hands in both of his. He might have hugged her, but he felt…broken and cracked, like he was made of hastily put together pieces, all full of razor sharp edges, and that he must surely slice open anyone who got too close to him right now. Not to mention that he could barely look at her for more than a glance at a time. A glance was enough to know that she’d been crying. No one else would have seen, but this _was_ his mother.

“I’m sorry,” he said out loud, head bowed. He was, for a lot of things. He was sorry this had happened. He was sorry he hadn’t been here from the beginning. Sorry for whatever part he might have played in hastening this day’s arrival. “I…” But words failed him beyond that.

“Don’t,” Frigga murmured, and she pulled a hand away only so she could gently stroke his hair instead. The feeling was one of the most familiar things in the world, even now. “Don’t. What matters is that you’re here. _We’re_ here, to…to face this. As a family.”

However much of it would be left in the end.

“He wants to see you,” Frigga added, just as Thor had, and just like when Thor had said it the words made no sense. What could Odin possibly want to say? What would be the point to saying anything anymore? Just the thought that there was something left to say made Loki’s stomach twist into a few more knots from anxiety. He and Odin did not have a good history of secrets held between them. He’d thought that they’d made peace with that centuries ago.

All the same, when they stood aside to let him pass, Loki moved to open the doors. Neither his brother nor his mother followed. Maybe they’d already said their farewells. Maybe they would say them after. Loki couldn’t find the breath to ask, not when he could barely find the strength to open the doors and move forward.

The sound of them closing behind him echoed painfully loudly in the stillness of the chambers beyond.

Loki realized, then, just why his thoughts had been so consumed with memories of death for the last long while. All magic-users, to some degree or another, had the gift of foresight. The strength of their power determined the strength of the vision, and it was not pride to say that there were very few stronger than Loki in this art.

His mind had been dwelling on those particular days within the past to warn him that more was to come in the future. It was impossible to look at Odin now and not know that here was a king taking his last breaths.

He took a deep breath that rattled almost as much as the ones Odin were taking did, and forced himself, step by leaden step, to his father’s bedside. At first, he thought that the old man was asleep, or worse, already gone. Then he saw Odin’s eyes – the clear, bright blue that Thor had inherited now milky and clouded – open just a slit, darting sluggishly around the room unseeing.

Until Loki drew near enough for him to see. Then his father’s breathing quickened, and he tried to reach out with one wizened hand. “My son,” he rasped, in a voice that could no longer reach above a whisper.

Loki took it, kneeling down beside the bed, and tried to ignore how the feel of Odin’s skin scared him. It was like old, dry paper that might tear at the gentlest touch. Even paper was warmer than this, however. Odin’s skin remained chilled, even when he pressed the hand gently between both of his in an attempt to warm it.

“Father,” he said quietly. Then, unable to stop himself, he asked, “How did this happen?” He immediately felt foolish for asking, because it couldn’t be more obvious how and why this was happening. Yet he still couldn’t reconcile in his mind this wizened old man with the figure of his father he recalled from scarcely fifteen years ago. Odin had always looked old, but he had never before looked _frail_.

_Except he had, once before. Once before, so long ago, when he’d collapsed on the hard stone steps leading down into the Vault. Once before, when Loki had reached out with shaking hands to check to see if his father was only asleep or if he, Loki, had killed him like the monster he was._

_Back then, he had also forgotten his voice for a few seconds that felt like an eternity, before it came back all in a rush and he screamed as loud as he could, “Guards! Please, help!”_

Odin laughed, although the breathy exhalations barely earned the name. “It happened inevitably, as it will happen to us all. My time in these realms has simply reached its end. And I go to Valhalla at peace and content.” His fingers tried to curl around Loki’s. His voice, faint as it was, grew earnest. “I know that my sons will carry on well without me.”

Loki laughed, or tried to. The sound came out a bit too much like a sob. “One of your sons will carry on well. The other has another eighteen years to serve.” Hardly a blink, compared to the time he’d already sat in that cell but for one day every year and one strange year on top of that, but time all the same. Time left on his sentence to pay for his crimes.

In fact, Loki sometimes found the prospect of the end of that time worse than the sentence itself. In another few years, he would be _free_ , and then…what? What then? What would he _be_ , when he was no longer a prisoner? Three hundred years was scarcely a blink in the overall lifespan of gods and giants, but Loki could already barely remember what “freedom” was like. He’d forgotten even before he’d been brought back to Asgard muzzled and chained, and couldn’t help but wonder at times if he’d ever known it at all.

“My other son returned to us from _oblivion_ ,” Odin corrected him firmly, and his voice was stern, and wonderfully, painfully familiar for it. “My other son built himself back up from ruin. He has listened, and learned, and _created_ , to the point that every guard in the castle is wielding a weapon he taught himself to craft.” Odin reached out with his other hand, turning with visible difficulty to do so, and before Loki could marshal himself to urge his father to lie back down, he realized that the older man was trying to brush away the tears that Loki hadn’t even realized had started to fall. “My other son is a brilliant, brave, _good_ man, and I could not possibly be more proud of him.”

The words were like sunlight, lancing through storm clouds. All the more bright and warm and _unfamiliar_ for being so much missed. It was true that he and Odin had reached the point of being at least okay with each other a long time ago, starting from when they’d both finally taken the time to sit down and have the talk that the Odinsleep and Loki’s mental breakdown had kept them from having before his fall. The truth remained, however, that words such as these were never words that Odin had offered easily to either of them, and certainly not after he’d been forced to balance his role of father to son with his role of king to prisoner.

So even as Loki was dizzy trying to comprehend what Odin was saying and clearly, obviously meaning, trying to brush the words and what they meant aside was easier, almost to the point of being habit. He smiled, even though the expression hurt. “Is that all you called me here to tell me, father? I would have thought you’d have more important matters to concern yourself with.”

“Why not?” Odin said, his serene acceptance unruffled by Loki’s attempts to deflect. “I did not say these things often enough when I had time. Now that I have no time left, perhaps it is too late to make up for all that I have missed. But…that has never stopped me from trying. And now it may be said that it never did.” His gaze grew somber once more, and he continued on, his voice steady from resolve of mind if not strength of body. “But no, Loki. That is not all I called you here to say. I am still Allfather, and when I am Allfather no longer, Frigga will carry on my word until Thor takes up the throne himself. And as Asgard’s king, my last proclamation is this. I declare your sentence at an end. I declare you a free man.”

Now Loki was absolutely certain he must have misheard, because there was no way this could be happening. Yet when he looked at Odin, his father’s gaze was unwavering and steady, and he didn’t say anything more.

Loki, for his part, found that there was only one thing he could say. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“Because I am tired of being king. It is a role I would take up again and again, for the good of the Nine Realms, but the truth of the matter is that it is a mantle I have worn for millennia and now I can finally cast it aside. I have set aside my duties as a father in favor of my duties as a king for too long. No longer. You are my son, Loki, and I know you will do well in your endeavors even after I have gone. Whatever those may be, I have faith in you. I trust you.”

Loki didn’t remember much of the next few minutes. Just that there was no holding back the sobs any longer, that like a child he begged Odin senselessly, that he clung to his father’s hand as though to selfishly keep him from Valhalla by force of will alone. He remembered that Odin shushed him and soothed him, as Frigga and Thor had when Loki was young and plagued by nightmares of loneliness and cold, or giants with red eyes and leering smiles. He thought he might even have heard Odin say “I love you”.

He reflected later that was it really so strange? Was any of that really so strange? After all, Loki knew better than most just how brave a person could become in what they thought were their final moments. It was a strangely freeing place to be, when there couldn’t possibly be any consequences for anything that you said, and so why not say them and die with your burdens a little less heavy with unspoken truths.

He understood, and had always found it one of the most unfair aspects of his life that he kept surviving beyond those moments. Odin, however, would obviously not be so unfortunate. Loki envied him, in that moment. He envied his father for his path to Valhalla, open and clear and so very close, his last few steps in life pre-determined and safe.

“Don’t be sad for me, my son,” Odin murmured, so quietly that Loki had to strain to hear him. He realized, his heart skipping in his chest, that his father’s grip on his hand was growing weaker by the moment, no matter how tightly he tried to hold on in compensation. “There is no reason to grieve for me. After all…after all this time…”

Odin Borson, Allfather of Asgard for time out of memory, took one last, deep, shuddering breath. His eyes were already no longer seeing anything in the physical realm. As that breath left him in a slow, wheezing exhale, it brought with it the last words he would ever say, for Loki’s ears alone.

“…I can see my father again. My father…my mother…and my brothers…”

His chest did not rise again. The light left his eyes for good, and the strength in his hands – hands that had guided all the Nine Realms and raised two children to follow him – finally failed. Odin died, very quietly and easily. He died alone, but for his youngest son there to hold his hand.

Strangest of all was the thought that Odin must have wanted it this way.

Loki sat there and sobbed, in part because there was no one to see him, in part because he just couldn’t make himself stop. He tried, however – even as the tears were hot on his cheeks, Loki tried to claw himself back into a somewhat presentable state. Tamping down his grief deep down into a safe and hidden corner of his heart was one of the hardest things Loki had ever done, but he had to, at least until he was properly alone.

He wasn’t, right now. He wasn’t, because he could _feel_ them on the other side of the doors, all of them. There was an entire kingdom beyond those doors, an entire world, a universe, all waiting for him to say the words that he must say.

Feeling like a man in a dream, barely even feeling himself move, Loki nevertheless got to his feet. He took a deep, shuddering breath, wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands, and smoothed his hair back from his face. There was nothing to be done about his clothes, of course. They were about as far from a prince’s garb as it was possible to get. No wonder he’d gotten so hard to notice.

All the same, like the prince that he was – like the _free man_ that he was – Loki held his head high and steeled his will as he walked to the doors alone. He forcibly ignored the way his hands shook as he reached for the door handles, and gripped them tightly enough that his knuckles stood out stark and sharp and white against the backs of his hands.

Loki took a deep breath, closed his eyes as though braced for a blow, and pushed the doors open before his courage could fail him entirely.

He hadn’t heard the sound of their muted chatter from his side of the doors, but he heard the silence that fell over the gathered crowd as loudly as any of Thor’s thunderbolts. He felt the force of their gaze like the hungry pull of the Void, even before Loki forced himself to look up and regard them all. Even then, suddenly finding himself the force of so much intent attention, all eyes on him, when he’d spent so much of his sentence completely and utterly _alone_ , was overwhelming enough that Loki found himself forced to brace a hand on one of the doors for support.

He opened his mouth. Tried to speak. Closed it again when the words stuck in his throat. His tongue felt heavy, numb, clumsy, and _leaden_ in his mouth. Despite himself, Loki’s eyes darted around the crowd, unconsciously seeking out exits, escapes. In doing so, his gaze found Thor and Frigga, waiting at the head of the gathered crowd of servants and guards and nobles. Waiting, just as they all had gathered together to wait, for the words that would change everything.

His gaze found Thor’s, and Loki found his voice. It was only to Thor and Frigga that he spoke. If everyone else overheard, then so be it.

“The king is dead.” He smiled, or supposed it was technically a smile, feeling a hysterical laugh bubbling up in his chest that was painful to swallow back. “Long live the king.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fare thee well, pre-TDW Odin. This chapter was kind of my send-off to the Odin that was...the Odin that, in a lot of ways, inspired this series in the first place. I found him hugely sympathetic in the first movie. Reticent, unsure of how to express his feelings to his children, struggling to balance his duties to Asgard with his duties to his family, trying to set a good example the only way he knew how, not good at being vulnerable. Even if he might relate more to Thor, I never doubted that he loved Loki. Really, he reminded me a lot of my father. 
> 
> Then "The Dark World" came along, and I was most displeased. Frigga and Thor were at least able to call Loki on his shit without casting him aside.


	3. Through the Looking Glass

It was easy to escape, after that. Not that he needed to escape, of course, oh no. Loki reminded himself with another dead, humorless laugh that he was _free_ , now.

So what did it say about him that the first thing Loki did was escape back to his cell? His cell with its heavy, enchanted wooden door and its flight of stairs leading down deep into the dark, safe, secure underbelly of the castle where hardly anyone even knew to look for him?

All the same, Loki forced himself not to close the door after him. He remembered that Thor had tried to follow him when he’d spied Loki slipping away from the crowds and preparations for the funeral and, eventually, the coronation. He remembered his brother trying to follow him, before Frigga held him back with a restraining hand on his shoulder. Loki knew Thor would want him there, and thought – hoped – that he could be. Just as long as it was _later_.

He left the door open as a sign of that fact, trusting to Frigga to keep Thor away at least for a time while Loki tried to…process. Tried to cope. Tried to even remember how to mourn.

The sorcerer wanted to do something. Anything. He didn’t want to be as helpless as he knew he was in the face of this _loss_. In the end, however, he surrendered to it instead. This he did by collapsing bonelessly onto his bed and pressing his face into the worn mattress, numb and empty and _lost_ , the heat of the forge on his face feeling like the only familiar thing in the world.

He didn’t feel Frigga arrive, and as a result Loki knew she hadn’t, not truly. He knew that, if he extended his hand too far, it would go right through the projection she had sent down to him. So he didn’t. What would be the point?

“I was surprised to find you down here,” he heard her say softly. Loki didn’t lift his head to look at her. Already, he found that he was tired of being looked at. Tired of so many people _seeing_ him. He couldn’t say that to _her_ , however, so he didn’t. “I thought he told you.”

“He told me a great many things,” said Loki, hating the sound of his own voice. It was hoarse and rough with the effort he’d been putting forth not to break down in tears again. “I suppose you are referring to the granting of my freedom?”

“Yes.” He felt her move closer, and found himself torn between the urge to shy away and embrace her. Neither would have done any good. Either way, his throat seized up painfully at the concern in her voice when she next spoke. “Loki, what’s wrong?”

He could have given her the obvious answer – that his father had just died. It wouldn’t even have been an entirely dishonest answer. That _was_ part of what was leaving him feeling so badly hollowed-out and fragile.

Frigga would know that, however. She wouldn’t ask if she already knew the answer. She could tell that there was something else wrong and, because it was only them, because in a way it was still only _him_ , Loki mustered up the strength to put to words the fear that had taken root in his heart by Odin’s bedside.

“I don’t remember what that means.” His voice trembled, and Loki felt his face burn with a heat that had nothing to do with the forge. “I don’t remember how to _be_ free.”

If the floor could have opened up and swallowed him in that moment, Loki would have gone happily. The universe was never that merciful, however.

“Oh, my son,” Frigga murmured softly, and it was both better and worse that her voice was just as unsteady as his. Loki felt suddenly, piercingly selfish that he’d fled like he had. This had to be a nightmare for both of them – Thor had lost a father, too, and Frigga her husband. He had the feeling that he should be there to help, even if Loki didn’t have the faintest idea what he could do to help.

“You will,” she was continuing on, and Loki dragged himself back to the present to listen. “If you just take the time, you will. But please, Loki, promise me. Promise me you’ll be kind to yourself in the days to come.”

The sound Loki made actually did qualify as a laugh that time, if only because there was actual humor in it. The sheer absurdity of it all was what finally gave him the strength to roll into a sitting position and regard the projection of his mother with a sardonic smile. “I think one loses the right to be ‘kind to themselves’ when the death of thousands is involved, mother.”

At least when those thousands were incapable of fighting back. Asgardians and Jotun both had no problems with _death_. Both races thrived on battle and war. The trouble, the truly heinous part of Loki’s actions in the eyes of Asgard, was that it hadn’t truly been war. Barring the Avengers who had fought back the army all alone, what the Chitauri had inflicted was _slaughter_.

“If it is a right you ever lost, you have more than earned it back,” Frigga said, stern and resolute. “More to the point, Loki, I know I raised you better than to hide away when there was work to be done.”

She certainly had, although he hadn’t always been the best at following those lessons. All Loki said out loud, however, was, “What work is there to be done?”

He guessed the answer even before she said it, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear when she said: “Preparations for the funeral.” As he watched, she began to fade with a shimmer of green fairy-lights to mark her departure. “Come to your room and see.”

* * *

She meant his old room, of course. Loki hadn’t been inside it in two hundred and fifty two years. He’d been, yes, afraid. He’d been afraid to see the layers of dust piling up over the remnants of his old life. He’d been afraid to see the traces left behind by the Loki who really had died when he’d fallen into the Void. At times, he’d been afraid that there would be no traces at all – that, if he asked, it would be to hear that they’d gotten rid of all his old things back when they’d thought him dead and lost.

That wasn’t necessarily a rational fear, of course, but one thing Loki had learned very definitely over the course of his imprisonment was that few things could make him more irrational than his family. Few things could _scare_ him more than his family, and fear was an irrational beast at best.

It was his old room in name only, of course. The man, the _boy_ , who had last dwelt there, might as well have been a stranger to him now.

Loki went anyway, of course, because Frigga was right. She had raised him not to shirk his responsibilities and, by and large, he didn’t. The problems most often arose when his idea of “what needed to be done” differed from most everyone else’s. He went with another veil thrown over himself to mark his passage, but he went. More than anything, he was surprised how easy it was to remember the way. His feet took him there with almost no conscious input from his brain. It seemed that a little over a millennia of familiarity trumped a little less than three hundred years away.

That thought should have been cheering. It wasn’t.

So almost before Loki knew it, he opening the doors to what had once been his room. Even then, even after all that had changed, especially after all that had happened, the sight of Frigga seated on the window seat hard at work with a needle and thread on his clothes was so familiar that it hurt. It took a moment for Loki to realize just why she was doing this, however, and then he smiled bitterly. Of course. Loki had always favored carefully fitted clothes, when that had been an option, even when he’d preferred to dress in layers. After everything, it was very doubtful that much of anything he owned would still fit, especially when the clothes he’d been left with for his imprisonment were too large. He’d gotten used to that, and couldn’t quite remember when.

“Loki,” said Frigga quietly, acknowledging him without looking up from her needle and thread. She held up the coat and shook it out, examining it critically in the early morning sunlight pouring through the window. Gold and steel ornamentation jingled faintly. “Come in. This will all go…much faster this way.”

“Of course, Mother.” It was always easier to size clothes to someone’s frame when you actually had their frame to work with, after all. Loki knew only the basics of needlework himself, and even that he had only learned by watching and assisting Frigga when he was young. Not for the first time and not for the last today, Loki couldn’t help but marvel at how some things just _stayed_ with you, come hells or high water.

It was easy, to go through those familiar motions. They couldn’t stop him from thinking, but they dulled the sting of everything at least a little. While Frigga stared out the window, Loki changed from the coarse tunic and trousers that had been all he had over the course of his imprisonment – except when Thor brought him mortal garb to wear for one of their expeditions together, of course. Instead, he donned the fine, fitted silks and satins and iron and gold that were the only fitting garb for a prince, especially a prince attending the funeral of a king.

The coat weighed heavily on him, and was too tight across the shoulders. The fabric itched in some places and chafed in others. The muscles he’d built up working a forge, lean as they were, were still enough to fill out his sleeves too much. He only realized that he’d grown an inch or two over the last couple of centuries when he realized that this left his leggings an inch or two too short to be acceptable.

Frigga fussed over him, taking measurements, snipping this and pinning that, ordering him to change out of this or that so she could make some adjustment or another before ordering him to put it back on so she could see how it fitted. For a time, the only sign that anything was wrong, that their minds were elsewhere, was that she occasionally stuck him with a pin by accident. He, in turn, once put his tunic on backwards and had a bit of difficulty sorting out the sleeves on his coat.

The familiarity made it better, made it all easier to bear. If Loki could have just forgotten what this was all in preparation for, it might have been like nothing had changed at all and Thor had never gone to Jotunheim.

But he couldn’t forget what this was all in preparation for.

It seemed like an eternity and a second at the same time before Frigga finally set her needle on his dresser and stepped back, clasping her hands before her in that way he knew meant she was trying to hold herself back, because it was a habit he’d learned from her. “There,” she said, forcing a smile that just made her face look tight and strange. “How does it look?”

And then Loki couldn’t avoid looking in the mirror any longer.

A stranger looked back at him from the other side of the glass. Or, not quite a stranger. Someone who’d died almost three hundred years ago. In everything except the eyes and the most subtle changes in the lines of his body, he looked as he had before his fall. He’d even started keeping his hair short again shortly after being brought back to Asgard, because it was that or have his cell constantly filled with the smell of singed hairs.

Those small tells, however, marked him as a fake as clearly as anything. Even as they made Loki’s stomach roil in discomfort to see, however, he knew that maybe it was for the best. This wasn’t about him, not really. This was about giving Odin a proper sendoff befitting a king, and being there for his mother and his brother that had been left behind. He could do this, for them.

It was easier, if he thought of it that way. Easier if he thought of what he could do for them, as opposed to what he had to do for himself. All of this became just another mask to wear for the sake of the kingdom, and all he had to do was wear it well.

Loki forced himself to smile and nod in a play at satisfaction before turning back to Frigga, clasping his hands tightly behind his back. “Fine,” he said, and anyone else wouldn’t have noticed the way his voice was just a bit too high. “It looks fine. Thank you, Mother.”

“Good,” Frigga said, and maybe no one else would have noticed the way her voice was just a bit too high. “That’s good.” She stepped nearer, to smooth back his hair, smooth out a few wrinkles in his clothes, tug his coat straight. He let her, an ugly feeling knotting in his chest at the look in her eyes – overbright, strangely desperate, red-rimmed. “It’s good that you could be here for this, Loki. That we could be together, for this. He was proud of you, Loki, he was so very proud of you.” Obviously moving without thinking, she wiped haphazardly at the tears gathering in her eyes. “And so am I, my dear, dear son.”

Loki told himself that, when he moved to hug her, it was just in an attempt to comfort her just this once. Frigga was Queen-Regent now, the ruling power of Asgard until Thor took the throne. For all that this was her husband they would be setting afloat in a barge tonight, she couldn’t lose control, she would have to stand tall and strong and unflinching. Preparations for Thor’s coronation would begin in _days_ , if she was allowed to wait that long. Better that she be allowed to grieve _now_ , when it was just them and Loki understood…

Then Frigga’s arms came around him, holding him gently, and Loki found himself enveloped in the scent of her that was the first thing he could remember in his entire life. As she held him and sobbed, so quietly that even this close Loki could barely hear her, he felt something that had knotted tightly in his heart so long ago come undone.

And he realized he hadn’t quite exhausted all the tears he had to give after all.


	4. Amends

Odin had not died in battle, but Odin had weathered so many battles for centuries and millennia past that it was really just as though the Valkyries had finally caught up to him.

Since most of Asgard’s inner court had known this day was coming months ago, the barge was already crafted. Odin’s most trusted allies and warriors, along with his family, made sure it was suitably decorated and laden down with its grave-goods. No one so much as twitched when Loki joined in the process along with Thor, and Loki was glad of that. Maybe they accepted his right to be here, maybe they just didn’t want to have a fight right now, maybe they were all just working off some mutual agreement that this had to be done and getting it done was the most important thing right now.

Either way, he was grateful to just bow his head and get to work. His new clothes – or old clothes made new, as the case may be – helped, for all that they had itched at him earlier. They made the illusion that he belonged here a little more convincing, they helped him blend in and look like the diligent, faithful prince he had once been.

They let everyone keep their mind on their work instead of pointless questions or recriminations.

There were still fights, of course, in the finest Asgardian tradition, but none of them involved Loki and he was always able to hold Thor back at the last second. Tempers were running hot, emotions were running high, and of course there would always be at least two people who disagreed about what belonged on the barge. Thor, Frigga, and Loki had the final word, of course, but sometimes the nobles and soldiers come to make their offerings didn’t always remember that in the heat of the moment. Thor didn’t ever have to send them away – a cold glare from Frigga did that well enough, even if only to marshal the Einherjar to order to drag them away.

She departed the proceedings just long enough to prepare the body alone. With crowds gathering along the steps and balconies of the harbor and the sun long ago set, Loki departed just long enough for an errand of his own as well. All he said to Thor was that he would be back in time, and it was the first thing Loki had said in hours.

Indeed, the most time consuming part of his trip was the walk from the palace to the medina and back again. Finding his target – in this case, a small shop straddling the “good” and “bad” parts of the city – was easy. Slipping inside on the heels of another couple, warded from view just for good measure, was easy. Actually lifting a couple of cream cakes from the shelves was so easy that it barely required conscious thought at all, even in the midst of trying to ignore the chattering rumors in the shop about Odin’s death.

Instead, Loki found himself thinking back to just what had brought him here in the first place. He and Thor used to sneak down to this particular store all the time, back when they were young and small and _happy_ and the most daring thing they were capable of doing was skipping lessons and sneaking out. Loki had known from the very first time that the old man who oversaw the front of the store knew damn well who they were despite their childish attempts at disguises. He’d known that the old man had only ever tried to keep them there long enough for the castle guards to find them and bring them home, no matter how many sweets he had to ply them with in the meantime for being “such nice boys”. Sometimes it had worked, and sometimes it hadn’t. Loki had never minded when it did. Usually by the time they’d wandered down that far, his feet hurt and he was overstimulated and besides, he was never quite as interested as Thor seemed to be in finding a “real tavern” where “real warriors” drank.

Besides, they’d been good cakes. By the time the guards found them, Loki had usually eaten enough that being sent to bed without supper was a mercy rather than a punishment. Frigga had eventually realized as much and started making them attend the evening feasts anyway, and as a result Odin’s two best hounds had grown fat to the point of waddling and and and…

It took Loki several long seconds to recognize the sounds he was making as laughter. He tried to stifle it, tried to cover his mouth with a hand or bite down on his fingers, but that just made it worse, made his shoulders shake with the memory of Thor’s sticky face and fingers, of those fat old dogs, of protesting _, “Mother, please, can’t I go to bed early just this once?”_

A spark of magic kept the cakes warm in his pocket as Loki walked home through the gradually thickening crowds. There’d been a stranger there manning the front of the shop this time – maybe the old man’s daughter, maybe just someone who’d bought the place who-knew-when ago, maybe just someone keeping an eye on the place while the old man was out.

Either way, all of that made it easier to take the cakes and go. He didn’t have any money anyway.

The entire trip and all its strangeness were immediately worth it when he found Thor again, and drew his brother into the shadows of a couple of griffon statues. There they are hastily, happily, and unnoticed even as a tide of people passed by them on their way to the harbor.

No words passed between them all the while. Just this once, no words needed to.

For just a few stolen moments, the brothers were young and small and happy again, and their memories were only good.

* * *

Of course, Loki had attended official funerals before. Since the end of the war with Jotunheim, however, there had been precious little cause for them, and none had ever taken place where Loki was one of the bereaved rather than just another mourner there to offer support or out of obligation. Thor, of course, had become intimately familiar with saying farewell to friends and loved ones in recent centuries. It wasn’t even accurate to say that Thor had never had to go through this for family before. After all, Loki had once seen his own funeral through Thor’s eyes, felt his brother’s mourning in his own heart.

So as the three of them stood at the edge of the dock – closes to the barge, of course – perhaps it was only natural for Loki to worry that he would forget the words of the hymns, that he would miss his mark with the arrow when it was set alight, that his hands would shake when sending up the lantern. That he would, in short, get it all _wrong_ , as he had so many things in his life.

His memory, however, otherwise so treacherous throughout this long, sad day, did not fail him when the time came. The signing started with Frigga, the words and the melody were picked up by Loki and Thor, and then the music spread from the three of them up and down the docks, up to the balconies and within the castle walls, down from there into the packed city streets, further and further and on and on, picked up and ferried along by every voice along the way so that the music only grew stronger as it reached out further.

Until at last, Loki thought that he could feel all of Asgard singing with him and his family. If he closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the sky, Loki could even imagine the stars themselves – every one marking the passage of a noble soul to Valhalla – were singing with him, too.

It didn’t matter how well you took up the song. All that mattered was that you did.

The silence after it was done was all the more deafening for it, of course. In the end, however, that was for the best, too. It left Loki with no distractions, not even the murmurings of his own thoughts. The barge was pushed out into the water, there to drift away with the currents, and Loki was able to swallow past the sudden tightness in his throat, the sudden thought of _don’t go_ that was there and gone like a shooting star. He turned away instead, to take up his bow and arrow along with Thor and Frigga. Loki waved the guards away when they drew near with the lights, however, and set the tips aflame with a bit of his own magic. Even now, he could let himself feel just a little bit proud at the surprise on Thor’s face.

Not that it should have been all that surprising. After all, Loki had found himself forced to develop quite the affinity with fire, as of late.

Frigga got the first shot. Loki and Thor stood shoulder-to-shoulder and sent their arrows after hers’. Their hands were steady, and their aim was true, and scant seconds later their efforts were answered by blooms of flame on Odin’s barge. That was the cue for everyone else standing at the ready, even if they couldn’t light their own arrows by magic.

For a moment, night turned to day as the sky was lit by hundreds of arrows burning as bright as the stars. Not all of them hit their mark. Enough of them did. As the barge burned, a different sort of light took form in the heart of the fire – a pure, white light that gathered together and rose into the sky, as the barge reached the edge of the world. As the vessel burned to ashes, the soul rose up into the heavens.

Loki’s hands did shake as he took up his lantern. So did Thor’s, and the heat of his hands were still enough to set it to glowing. The light rose up with his brother’s and his mother’s and all of Asgard’s, a web of light meant to guide Odin to his final, proper resting place among the stars. When all of them were airborne and rising, Loki simply stood beside Thor and watched in silent wonder.

At least until Thor gave his sleeve a soft tug. Loki looked up at his brother, and one look was enough for him to understand the words unsaid. They made their departure with a bow to Frigga, and a veil to hide their departure from other prying eyes, and Loki led the way to a shadowed corner of the castle grounds at the very edge of the crowds.

Then, and only then, did Thor allow his strength to finally fail. Loki found himself seized in a fierce hug, and Thor buried his face in his little brother’s shoulder and _sobbed_. His obligations to mourn as a prince and future king were fulfilled. Now he allowed himself the moment Loki had been allowed in Odin’s rooms behind closed doors – the chance to mourn like a child who had lost his father.

It was harder than it should have been, to keep up the veil that would spare them from prying eyes that had no place in this moment. Loki managed it anyway. And, for the second time in their lives, he let Thor lean on him for support. It was, in Loki’s very definite opinion, two times more than should ever have been necessary.

* * *

In the week that followed, it would have been hard to tell which brother was hiding in which one’s shadow. Perhaps it was only that both were sharing the shadow, rather than fighting for the spotlight. They stuck steadfastly by one another’s side, all the same, shouldering and sharing the burden of grief by presence alone, with very few words. They wandered the palace and city together, sharing memories that needed no words. Loki didn’t sleep in his cell, or the well-kept tomb that was his old room. Instead, when he slept, it was usually in the chair at Thor’s desk.

Of course, people came to offer their condolences to Thor. A few even came to offer their condolences to Loki, but Loki never let himself be found to take them. The second he caught sight of the glint of Fandral’s rapier or the deep black of Sif’s hair, Loki disappeared from Thor’s side, only making himself known again when there was only Thor to see once more.

Even they had no obligations to face for this one week, although they both knew that the second the feast was over, Thor would be wrapped up in preparations for the coronation. In defiance of all tradition and good taste, rumors were already spreading. Asgard needed a king, and Thor had been studying fiercely in preparation for this day.

Neither one of them had ever dared think it would arrive like this, however.

The feast at the end of the week would mark the end of the official period of mourning for Odin, the signal that life had permission to begin anew once more. It was meant to be a celebration of Odin’s life and his good deeds, a time for good memories to wash away the taste of sad ones.

Loki still made his apologies to Frigga and declined to attend. “I’m afraid I no longer have the stomach for such rich fare, and an upset stomach would cast an unfortunate pall over the proceedings. Besides…the sooner I get started on this project of mine, the better. I doubt I’ll have very much time as it is, with preparations for the coronation already in such earnest.”

She asked what project he meant. He told her, trying to sound bolder than he felt – knowing how presumptuous it was to claim this responsibility for himself, knowing that neither she nor Thor wanted him to return to his cell just because it was easier. And yet, when he thought of taking this step, Loki felt more certain than he had about anything else for decades.

Loki told her, and she smiled, and gave her blessing. He told her what he would need, and she promised to provide it…in exchange for one thing in turn.

“Promise me you’ll leave the door open.”

He did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never had much of a skill for fix-it fics...but, I've gotta admit, writing this particular redress was satisfying as all hell.
> 
> Also, fun fact - the "cream cakes" are based on "Krumkake", which according to Wikipedia is an actual Norwegian dessert. I love it when fanfic leads to research. Especially about food.


	5. A New Day Dawning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! Sif has no last name that I could discover. Not in movie, comic, or myth. This fact became very relevant to my interests pertaining to this chapter, but I tried to work around it the best that I could.
> 
> On the other hand, well, I'm sure it says something about the sort of series I've almost finished crafting that my thoughts also included, "Ah, Loki ranting about his feelings for nearly five hundred words. Now I know we're back on track." Compared to his rant of not understanding to Thor during "A Day in the Sun" to his speech here near the end, I thought it might even count as something like dramatic symmetry.

The morning of Thor’s coronation, six months later, dawned overcast and rumbling with infant storms. It was as though even the skies themselves were preparing to swear their fealty to the Thunderer. All the same, a few weak sunbeams managed to lance through the darkly gathering clouds, almost as though only for the look of the thing.

Loki was as much, because he was there to watch the sun rise from a window seat in the hallway. He’d finished up his final project hours ago, and hadn’t really known what else to do after that besides make himself presentable.

Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. He knew what came next. It was just a matter of mustering up the courage to take that step.

Loki let his gaze drift to the velvet-wrapped bundle resting on the windowsill beside him. Then he sighed, long and tired.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he completely failed to notice no less than three people sneaking up on him. Given the sheer size of one of them, this was particularly unforgiveable. So Loki let out a most undignified yelp indeed as he found his chosen window seat suddenly surrounded on all three sides, a heavy hand clapped on his shoulder, a voice ringing out with frankly appalling cheerfulness. “Well, here he is!”

Loki only monetarily regretted the damnably comfortable routine that had led to him coming up here without a knife. This was because his three, for lack of a better word, _visitors_ were Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg. Fandral and Volstagg were beaming. Hogun, for his part, just looked markedly less grim. It took Loki several long seconds to realize that they were beaming at the sight of _him_.

“Silvertongue slithers from his den – hopefully for the last time,” Fandral continued on cheerfully, taking a sprawling seat on the section of the seat not occupied by Loki and his coronation gift.

“And what new treasure has he brought forth with him? Volstagg asked, with a curiosity that might even have been genuine as he reached for the wrapped bundle. Quick as a cat, Loki swatted Volstagg’s hand away with one of his and snatched the hidden item safely out of immediate reach with the other. A few folds of velvet fell momentarily loose as he did so, exposing a tantalizing glimmer.

“That’s for me to know,” Loki said, unable to help a flicker of genuine satisfaction at the curiosity and, yes, awe on their faces as they obviously wondered. He fussily tucked the velvet into place and set it on his lap for safe keeping. “And you to find out about in a few hours.”

He got to his feet, making a play of dusting himself off, and they allowed him. “But you did remind me that I need to set this in its proper place before the festivities begin. If you will pardon me, then.”

“Why should we do that?” Fandral asked with an easy smile, as the three got to their feet with the clear intention of following along. “We’ll join you.”

“After all, the feast table is already being laid,” Volstagg added.

“And there is much that you have missed even in these past few months,” Fandral finished with a flourishing wave of his hand. “We thought to enlighten you, my friend.”

They were being undeniably friendly. He might uncharitably have called it aggressively so, but in that moment, Loki found that he wasn’t feeling uncharitable. They were trying to include him, knowing that this was his first proper day of freedom in centuries. Though they were being dreadfully transparent about it, he suspected that was due to a lack of subtlety more than bad intentions. Despite his plans for the end of the day, Loki couldn’t help but take what they were offering…especially after having yearned for it for so long in other, far away days.

“Far be it from me to dissuade you,” was all he said aloud, waving them along to follow and biting back a smile. “Away we go, then.”

“It’s just as well that you came as early as you did,” Hogun said, as they set off for the throne room and the grand decorations laid within it. “The new Queen told us to extend you a formal invitation in any case, if you did not appear under your own power.”

Loki had no doubt that, in this case, “formal” was meant to mean “forceful”, which was meant to mean that the Warriors Three would have dragged him up the stairs if he hadn’t come willingly. Sif wouldn’t have allowed Loki to deny Thor his presence at least, but Loki had no intention of denying Thor that, so it worked out just as well.

She would be a good queen. Thor would never lack for a steady right hand with her to share the throne.

“Be sure and inform the new queen that I am honored,” Loki said instead with a flippant smile. “And I wouldn’t have missed today for all the treasures in the Vault.”

He hadn’t missed much, as it turned out – mostly politics of various kinds from various worlds. That was enough to keep Loki’s attention on the walk over, however. He’d always had a fondness for politics and their twisted machinations. Either way, the conversation was pleasant, and spared him having to contribute too much while his mind was definitely elsewhere.

Words failed all of them anyway when they stepped into the grand, sweeping archways of the throne room to see it transformed into something greater than glory.

The feast tables were indeed already being laid, and the decorations were breathtaking. Despite the fact that the cavernous room bustled with hardworking servants putting the finishing touches on the entire affair, the high ceilings seemed to swallow all sound with room to spare. Even the few weak beams of sunlight were turned into glittering glory as they reflected off the etched columns supporting the ceiling, and the contrast between the black storm clouds and the brightness within was all the more striking.

It was an effort for Loki to tear his gaze away from staring in unabashed awe, but he did, remembering his mission. Volstagg gravitated towards the feast tables to pick at the edges for a moment, waving them on and mumbling that he would catch up. Hogun was not so hasty to cease appreciating the hard work of the servants, and even paused to help them finish polishing the last of the statues.

Fandral, however, followed Loki as he walked the entire length of the hall and up the stairs to the throne room. Loki almost physically felt the man’s gaze burning the back of his neck as he carefully stepped up to the seat Thor would take in just a couple of hours, and set his present reverentially atop the throne to await his arrival.

He wasn’t sure what he expected to see in the eyes of Thor’s friend when he turned back…but it definitely wasn’t the bright-eyed sparkle of mischief that was really there.

“Well, well,” Fandral mused, folding his arms across his chest to stare thoughtfully up at Loki, with what the sorcerer dared to think might be respect. “I confess, I suspected as much.”

This time, Loki’s couldn’t quite bite back his smile. “Yes, well. Do me the courtesy of not spoiling the surprise…at least to Thor. I want to see if he can guess.” He pressed a finger to his lips for emphasis. Fandral chuckled, before he mimed sealing his lips and throwing away the key.

“Rest assured, my friend. Your secret will rest safely with me…at least until after the coronation ends and the mead is brought out.”

Loki was forced to concede that that was the best he could hope for.

There was one more thing that he knew had to be done before the ceremony began, even if only for his own sake. Loki was reasonably sure he had the time, and so he made his excuses to the Warriors Three before setting off alone for the Vault.

It was a senseless, irrational thing he went to do, but Loki went and did it anyway. Thor had a tendency to bring out that side of him, for better or worse.

There were two guards on the doors, as there always were. Just as there had been on the day of Thor’s last coronation, before being caught in the middle of Loki’s scheme. He waited and watched at the end of the hallway until the shift changed, however – and, in the scant breath between the first two leaving and the second two taking their place, Loki slipped down into one of Asgard’s most heavily defended chambers. He told himself that he would only need a minute. He would only have a minute – the guards _would_ actively be looking for intruders, and though he was a free man, Loki had no doubt that’s what he would still be in their eyes. Even with his newfound skill with them, his veils could only hold up so long against people who were actively looking for trouble.

The prince knew, however, that this would be his only chance.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, strode to the center of the Vault, and only then did he stop to look around with all his senses.

The Tesseract – indeed, three of the Infinity Stones – had supplanted the Casket of Winters as the most dangerous item in the Vault, and had taken its place on the pedestal before the Destroyer. The Casket itself had been returned to Jotunheim a scant fifty years after Loki’s attempted annihilation of the place, as a further peace offering and an aid to their recovery. Most of the other artifacts were where they had always been – where they would always be, if Asgard had its way – but a few more had been added in recent centuries, especially after the last intergalactic war.

Loki hesitated before approaching the Tesseract, but he forced himself to do so, step by step. At every second, he expected to hear the voice of the Other cut through his head like a knife, but the Other was dead. He expected to feel Thanos seize his mind and snap it in half, but Thanos had been chased to the far corners of space. The power housed in it still called to him, as it had from the first time he’d come in contact with it. Loki could all but _feel_ the tendrils of energy grasping for him once more.

He took a deep breath, and brushed them aside like so many moths. Then, as voices began to filter down from the other side of the doors, Loki stretched his senses out to every corner of the Vault, checking as quickly but thoroughly as he could.

“Loki?”

He whirled around, cursing himself – even a moment’s hesitation testing himself against the Tesseract had been too long. However, Loki was surprised to realize that rather than the guards at the top of the stairs, it was Frigga. He realized that one of the guards, upon realizing who was down here, must have gone to fetch her to deal with the matter.

Understandable, perhaps, if they remembered what he did.

There was no suspicion in his mother’s eyes that Loki could see, but there was confusion, and concern, as she slowly came down the steps to meet him. “What are you doing down here?”

The intervening six months had been kind to her – Thor especially had made certain of that, and Loki had done his best to help. She looked older, a little more drawn, and there were moments of sadness that were impossible to avoid. She could smile now without looking like it hurt, however, and talk of other things.

Loki found that he didn’t have to force himself to smile, this time. He turned his back on the array of artifacts hidden down in the dark, as he had so recently been, and went to meet her. She smiled, relieved, and when she offered her hand, he took it, resting his hand lightly atop hers’ – as a price to his queen and as a son to his mother.

“Oh, nothing much,” Loki said lightly. “Just checking for frost giants.”

But there was only one to be found, and he followed his mother back up the stairs to help finish preparations for the coronation.

* * *

Loki knew there had been some hesitations about standing on Hlidskjalf’s dais along with Frigga, and the future king and queen. Some of them had been his own, though eventually he’d made the decision to take the right when it was offered to him. It was an act of sheer and simple defiance – maybe even a little bit of spite. It might have taken him some time to find his feet again, but now Loki was ready to be seen. Ready to start existing on his own again, ready to show all of Asgard and the other realms that he was free. Thor had made it clear that anyone who didn’t want to see Loki on the dais with him could keep their heads down. Loki wouldn’t have put it quite so emphatically, but he found that he appreciated the sentiment, and the support.

He was tired of shadows. They had their purpose, they had let him hide, but wherever Loki went from here, he was done hiding.

So Loki was there, in full armor and helmet, standing on Hlidskjalf’s right, when the coronation began. Frigga stood on the throne’s other side, in the space that would soon be occupied by Asgard’s new queen. Gungnir gleamed in her hand, passed to her with Odin’s death.

The throne room was packed to bursting with nobles and warriors and delegates from the other realms, including the unfamiliar band of heroes that now formed Earth’s Avengers and a collective of aliens that identified themselves as “The Guardians of the Galaxy”. The feast tables had barely been diminished at all by hungry workers, and thunder and lightning rattled and lit the sky outside.

It felt as though the world was holding its breath in the moments before Thor and Sif arrived. Then, with a rush of air, they did, descending together from the sky and into the hall.

All the responsibilities and studying in the world – and the last two hundred and fifty years had contained almost all the responsibilities and studying in the world – couldn’t diminish Thor’s fondness of the grand and dramatic for long. Sif, for her part, had recently been granted a pair of winged boots to allow her to keep up with her airborne husband-to-be. Arriving while being carried in Thor’s arms had never been on the table at all. They landed side-by-side as a bolt of lightning lanced through the clouds. As they touched down, the crowd erupted in screaming cheers that didn’t stop all the while the new king and queen strode across the throne room to kneel before the throne itself. Frigga, in turn, stepped slowly down the steps to meet them. It was nice to see her struggling to keep from smiling _too much_ , for once.

The Queen-Regent raised her hand, and a tide of silence slowly spread throughout all in attendance. Only when the grand hall was silent enough that you could have heard a pin drop did she lower her hand and begin to speak.

To his embarrassment, Loki found himself paying more attention to Thor than to the speech. He couldn’t help but think back on their last attempt to put Thor on the throne – the day that had, in so many ways, started all of this. He couldn’t help but compare his brother then to his brother now, and perhaps do the same to himself.

Thor had been a child back then, a boy. They both had, much as they’d styled themselves grown men ready to bear all the burdens of the Nine Realms. Thor in particular, however, hadn’t truly appreciated the weight that came with kingship, only the power it conferred. He’d been eager for that power then – too eager. Loki could still remember the way Thor had looked last time, as he knelt in this same spot as the same words were spoken. He’d been fidgeting, straining at the leash, looking up at around at others as though their attention was what mattered the most.

Now, Thor was still, silent, and somber, in such perfect control of himself and his power that he could quiet the thunder one second and call it down again the next. He knelt with his head bowed, his eyes humbly downcast as he prepared to accept this greatest of responsibilities. Later he would laugh and beam and probably drink half the attending guests under the tables, but for now, Loki could tell that here was a man who had obviously spent the past three centuries striving to be older and wiser in preparation for this very day.

He thought that Thor hadn’t done a half-bad job. No one could ever be truly ready for a responsibility like this, not entirely, but Thor had the best head-start anyone could possibly have hoped for, and he’d _learned_ what the true purpose of all the power being granted to him should be by heart rather than rote. It was a purpose best described in the final part of the speech.

“Thor Odinson and Shield Maiden Sif,” Frigga said at last, her voice ringing throughout the throne room. “Do you swear to guard the Nine Realms?”

“We swear.”

“Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and pledge yourselves only to the good of all the Realms?”

“We swear.”

“Then on this day, I, Frigga Allmother, do declare you right and sovereign rulers of Asgard, and through Asgard, all the Nine Realms and their people. May your hands be ever-steady and your wisdom never falter.”

She turned to retrieve something that had been sitting on Hlidskjalf in preparation for this very moment. Kings of Asgard wore helmets, not crowns, but Thor’s winged warrior helmet would not suffice. Not when it bore too many scratches and marks and dents of old battles, of an old life. Odin’s helmet, however, had been set aflame with him. It was traditional that a new one should be made, for a new king, and so one had been.

It still held traces of Thor’s old helmet, in the shape and in the wings. The ornamentation that had been added seamlessly highlighted the old while incorporating the new, regal in signs of strength and power rather than ostentation. The metalworking was flawless, the detail painstaking, and it could hold up to a troll’s club in a pinch in the bargain.

The other helmet was not quite so intricately crafted, but had been clearly made for Sif all the same. She was not Thor’s queen by marriage yet, but everyone knew that she would be one day soon. She hadn’t wanted to have a proper wedding so close on the heels of the coronation, or perhaps even at all. She hadn’t wanted to waste the resources on two lavish celebrations. Thor, for his part, had made his desire plain for a proper wedding but ultimately left the decision to her. Either way, he shared her desire to wait a few years, until Asgard had settled under the hand of a new king and all the Nine Realms were turning steadily once more.

More than likely, they would be properly bound to one another in a quiet, hidden ceremony with only the Warriors Three and some of the other shield maidens to attend. Until then, she would be crowned beside him in any case. No one would question her right to rule at Thor’s side after this day. No one could see the way Thor looked at her and doubt his desire to have her there.

He did not love her the same way that he had loved Jane, but he loved her all the same. Differently, not less. Loki could only hope that Sif would see that, for both their sake’s. She would make a good queen. Sif had never shown much desire to lead, but her devotion and support could shame the roots of Yggdrassil. Though it was Loki who was standing at the throne’s right, Sif would serve as Thor’s right hand in the centuries to come, swift and relentless in carrying out his will. Her steady composure and quick wits would ensure that Thor’s will was guided-well.

Frigga took up the helmets, and her smile was as brief and bright as summer lightning while her back was to the crowd. She knelt down before Sif, brushed a few stray strands of black hair back from her face, and placed the helmet with all due reverence and care onto Sif’s head. In doing so, with no words being said, she passed on the mantle of Asgard’s queen to her successor.

Then she turned, knelt down before Thor, and slowly, carefully, lowered the helmet onto his head. Her voice when she next spoke, however, was as strong as ever.

“Arise, and face your people now.”

Thor rose, and turned to face the gathered representatives of the universe. There was one, long moment of hushed, expectant stillness…and then Thor punched the air with Mjolnir and let out a roar that shook the high ceilings, backed as it was by thunder.

And the hall exploded into deafening applause and cheers. Thor stood tall and proud, drinking in the reception, the support, and doubtless taking a minute in the middle of the senseless noise to process the full truth of the matter. He did move to take Sif’s hand and draw her up to her feet, to face what would soon be her people as well. He lifted their joined hands as he had lifted Mjolnir, and for a moment, the cheering grew louder in reply. Close by as he was, Loki couldn’t fail to miss the way Sif smiled in something like relief.

Thor also looked back towards the two standing behind him – his gaze found Frigga’s, and then Loki’s, and his smile was radiant with unabashed love for them both. There was still a part of Loki who’s first impulse was to shy away from that bright affection, and yet it was that very thing which had let him hang on to his faith in Thor and his good intentions. It was Thor’s unashamed love for his brother that had driven Loki to let himself be dragged back to Earth time and time again for “lessons” on the wonder of humanity and why he didn’t have to be a monster just because this wasn’t his true skin.

There would always be a part of Loki that wanted to shy away from affection, love, and trust, because of the vulnerability they created in others and himself. Affection could be faked, love could hurt, trust could be betrayed. Actions, however, were harder to doubt than words, and Thor had always been a man of action, even and most especially in demonstrating loyalty and love. When he smiled at Loki, reached out to him, hugged him…now, those were the moments when even Loki couldn’t find it in himself to doubt.

So he smiled back at Thor until his face hurt, and added his applause to the rest for Asgard’s new king and queen.

 _I’ve looked forward to this day as long as you have,_ he thought, and remembered, his own words coming back to him from the beginning of it all. _You’re my brother, and my friend. Though at times I’m envious…never doubt that I love you_.

* * *

The celebrations began in full after that, as only an Asgardian could celebrate. The tumult of applause and cheers was replaced with the dull roar of the chatter and laughter and feasting of hundreds. Tomorrow life would resume as normal, more normally than it had in months with a new king seated on the throne of Asgard with a new queen by his side. Today was a day for celebrating a new chapter in the life of the shining city, one that was already looking to be a tale of a golden age.

Loki allowed himself to drift through the festivities, occasionally being drawn into them. The Warriors Three called him over for drinks and stories, Sif called him over to extend her formal gratitude for the winged boots. A few others, whose faces he could only dimly recall after everything, approached him to ask after his health, his recovery, and to offer a drink to his freedom and health. Loki indulged them all, but they were only pleasant stops on his way to his final destination. That was to follow Thor out of the throne room and onto the long balcony that bordered it, offering an unparalleled view of the king’s new domain.

He’d seen his chance when Thor had excused himself from one pack of well-wishers and made excuses to the next. He wouldn’t be able to preserve such solitude for long, and Loki planned to take full advantage of the opportunity while he had it. He wasn’t sure it would ever come again. So he slipped after his brother, unnoticed with the help of his magic. For a long, long moment, as he strode after the figure of Thor that was already so distant up ahead, Loki thought that included the new king as well.

Then Thor reached the edge of the balcony, and turned to look back at Loki. He smiled, and beckoned him over, and Loki felt something in his chest warm that he hadn’t even realized until then had gone cold.

“Congratulations,” he said, moving to lean against the balcony beside his brother. “How does it feel?”

Thor, for his part, kept his gaze on the vastness of his kingdom, spreading out before him beneath the rays of the setting sun. The clouds were slowly parting. At Loki’s question, he frowned, brow furrowing in thought, before shaking his head with a tired sigh. “I don’t know,” the king admitted quietly. Only then did his gaze dart to Loki’s for just a moment, almost nervously. A hesitant beat passed, before Thor could marshal himself to ask: “What did you feel?”

It took Loki a second to remember what Thor was talking about – those chaotic few days during Thor’s exile to Earth and Odin had fallen into the Odinsleep, leaving Loki as the only available heir to the throne. Loki felt his lips twist in a bitter smile at the recollection. “Terror, mostly. Does that sound familiar?”

Thor chuckled ruefully, nodding. “It does.”

“I would respect you far less if it didn’t. A man who does not doubt for a moment that he will make a good king is no king at all.” Even Loki had never been quite that arrogant.

“I suppose you’re right. And,” Thor took a deep breath, closing his eyes and straightening his spine as though the words he was about to say would shake the foundations of Asgard itself. “…I would always rather be a good man than a great king.”

They didn’t, of course, but they were good words all the same. Loki reached out to rest a hand on Thor’s broad shoulder. “I know you would,” he said, smiling fondly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be both. If anyone could…it’s you, brother.”

Under the circumstances, he was not remotely surprised when his reply was a sideways hug. It seemed as though it was an effort to do so, but Thor still brightened visibly, nodding with fresh resolved that he’d dredged up from his slowly rebuilding reserves of strength. “I’m sure I can,” he said, his voice as warm as the setting sun. “With you by my side.”

It was now or never. Even if he’d made the decision months ago, however, The well-meaning words fell like a blow, but Loki took them without flinching. Thor’s arm did not move from around his shoulders, and Loki was glad to have him there. Glad to lean against his brother and draw his own reserves of emotional strength for the words he said next.

“And I’m sure you can without me.”

No one could have missed the way Thor froze in shock, let alone Loki. He bit his lip and said nothing, giving the full implications of the words time to sink in. He would not take them back, no matter how easy it would be to do so.

Thor’s arm tightened very fractionally around Loki, as though to hold him here. His voice, when he finally spoke, was rough with suppressed emotion. “Will you tell me where you mean to go?” he asked, obviously trying to keep control of himself despite all of that. “Will you…tell me why?”

“Of course.” Loki answered without hesitation. That much had never been in question, either. Even if they weren’t brothers, he owed Thor at least that much for the last two hundred and fifty years. So the former prince leaned without hesitation into Thor’s side, and made his case.

“It’s your own fault, you know. Spending all the time teaching me the ‘marvels of humanity’. Dragging me out to walk among them once a year.” Until the death of Steve Rogers had been the last straw and Thor himself hadn’t been able to face Earth. Loki’s days of freedom after that had mostly consisted of visits to other worlds – once even to Jotunheim – or hours spent in quiet corners of Asgard, sometimes in Thor’s care and sometimes Frigga’s. Earth and its humans had been what had started all of this, however. “Is it any wonder I might wish to continue my ‘studies’, brother? Think more on all you’ve said and tried to impart to me? You’ve spent centuries trying to show me another path to walk. Is it any wonder that I might wish to continue walking it?”

“No,” Thor agreed without hesitation. “No wonder at all.” His smile was sad enough to make Loki’s heart ache, and old enough, just for a moment, to leave him feeling genuinely scared. “If I have done too good a job in guiding you, brother, in showing you another way, I can hardly protest your actions. But…” His voice took on a note of pleading, much as Loki knew Thor must be trying to hide it. “Is there really no other way for you to do all of this for yourself and stay here, in Asgard?” _With me_ went unsaid, because it didn’t have to be said.

“No,” Loki answered solemnly. “There are too many ghosts here. I walk these halls, Thor, and see these faces, and, and all I’m left thinking is that I’ve…outgrown this place. I can’t help but think that, if I say here, it will only be to fall back into the paths I carved as the man I used to be. As for the man I am…Asgard is no longer my home.”

“Asgard will _always_ be your home,” said Thor, low and fierce, almost before Loki had finished speaking.

“Asgard will always be my family’s home,” Loki corrected him gently. “And so it is here that I will return, when they have need of me.”

The words felt good to say, and they obviously soothed Thor to hear. Yet the way Thor turned the sideways embrace into a proper one communicated well enough his acceptance of Loki’s decision.

More than anything, the fear of being seduced by familiarity back onto the wrong path, of being thoughtlessly bound back into old roles, was Loki’s true reason for going. This was not to say that his earlier, more hopeful words had been dishonest. The fear of falling back into old habits drove him on. The hope that he truly was a better man now let him believe that, whatever lay at the end of this road he now walked alone, that it would be happy.

For now, however, he was happy simply to return the hug without reservation – even if it wouldn’t be the last time ever that he could bask in Thor’s love like this, it would doubtless be the last time for a while. It was only the two of them, here in this place where Loki had willingly bared his heart, and so that made it okay. “But I think they will have need of me far less than they think,” he finished.

“Where will you go?” Thor asked quietly, the words a soft rumble against Loki’s hair.

“Well, now, here’s some good news,” Loki replied, trying to keep his voice bright and finding it easier than he’d expected. The words were out and said, like poison bled out, and his heart felt lighter for it. “I thought I would return to Earth to stay, at least for a time. To watch over it in your stead, Thor, and perhaps get the measure of its new heroes for you in the bargain. In a strictly friendly fashion,” he added hastily, as Thor pulled away enough to raise an incredulous eyebrow. “But come now, Thor. You know that you can hardly watch all the Realms equally when you’re so inclined to fuss over this one. And I know that you could never trust these new heroes as you did your old friends without first taking their measure as warriors. Allow me to do all of that in your stead, at least for a time. Besides, I believe I have proven myself capable of dealing with most threats that might appear to threaten the place in the meantime.”

“You would do that?” Thor asked, his voice touched and awed and wonderfully free of doubt. “You would stand with Earth if it needed a protector?”

“Of course.” Loki smiled, broad and bright and maybe just a bit mischievous. “Earth has become one of my favorite subjects of study, after all…and you do know how very much I hate to have my studies interrupted.”

Thor laughed, open and free, clapping Loki on the shoulder. “I remember well, brother. And…I thank you. I think that there are none I would trust to guard the Earth in my stead more than you, after all this time.”

He meant it, of course. Thor always meant it when he said such hopelessly sentimental things. What should never have come to be the truth instead became something as fundamental as the rising of the sun in his voice. It was one of the many reasons people would follow him to Hel and back. It was, impossibly enough, another reason Loki had no doubt that Thor would make a good king. A well-crafted lie could take the place of the truth, that he knew better than almost anyone. The truth, however, would always take it back when spoken by a heart’s conviction. He’d gained a new appreciation for that almost three hundred years ago, and was glad almost three hundred years later that he had.

“You honor me,” was all Loki said out loud, and that was true, too.

“I give what is due,” Thor correctly gently, smiling. Just for a moment, however, and then his expression grew somber once more. “You said ‘for a time’. Am I to take that to mean you have some other destination in mind, Loki? After Earth…where will you go?”

Rather than answering right away, Loki stepped close once again. He reached up to rest a hand lightly against the back of Thor’s skull, against his hair, and pressed their brows together. He closed his eyes and simply drank in the sound of Thor’s heartbeat and his breath for a long moment, knowing Thor must be doing the same, before he spoke.

“You’ll be the first to know,” Loki said. “I promise.”

“That’s all I ask,” Thor breathed in reply. At first, he pulled back just enough to press a kiss to Loki’s forehead. “Until then, brother…I wish you well.” Then, with what was obviously a supreme effort of will, he stepped back entirely, his arms falling empty to his side. It was a supreme effort of will for Loki to allow him to do so. For a moment, there was that same feeling that had taken hold of him when he’d learned that Odin was dying. It was the feeling of the ground falling away beneath his feet, leaving empty infinity beneath him.

This time, however, Loki was resolved even as he was afraid. He would never fall again.

Instead, he would _fly_.

“Until then, brother,” he said in turn, stepping back and turning away. Loki knew that if he didn’t leave now, he never would. “I wish you all the same.”

He was almost halfway across the balcony before Loki remembered that there was one question he’d never asked. There was one very important matter that he’d almost let pass without addressing it, or demanding that Thor do the same. Loki knew that he could just leave it lie, of course. He could just keep walking, even as he steps faltered with doubt.

Yet Loki knew that to leave without resolution would always nag at him. He knew, for all the changes he’d faced since being brought home in change, that if he let _this_ go without at least asking, he would not be Loki anymore.

“Thor!”

He looked back. So did Thor, his expression full of honest puzzlement.

Loki grinned – this time, it did not hurt to do so – and called back over the distance between them.

“Before I go…you never did tell me how you liked your new helmet.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie - this chapter was a bitch and a half to write. Especially the farewell scene. There's always one scene like it in, well, any fic I have featuring these two but especially in this series. But it was also one of my most satisfying scenes I think I've ever put together in any of my fics ever. Writing that "see you later", finishing it off...it felt good, man. It felt good. Loki earned that moment. Thor earned that moment. And so did I. 
> 
> But, we're not quite done yet! Only the epilogue to go from here! See you guys on the other side for the last step of our journey together! *hops over*


	6. Epilogue: Many days and many steps later...

It was a dark and stormy night. Most nights on Jotunheim seemed to be, Hogun reflected as they tromped along through the snow. They were surrounded as they went by a small squad of Jotun. Once upon a time, this would have marked them as prisoners being herded off to meet some grisly fate. Now, however, he knew that their escort had been sent as an honor guard, meant to see them safely through the blinding snow and treacherous terrain to their ultimate goal of the King’s grand hall – where, hopefully, there would be a fire and food awaiting them after such a long trek.

Barring the occasional curious glance and a hand up out of an occasional difficult snowdrift, the Warriors Three were largely left to their own discussions and thoughts. They were regarded with lingering wariness but no outright hostility that Hogun could see. Though, of course, that made sense. The King would not have sent to collect Asgard’s chosen emissaries any Jotun that might have so far proven reluctant to let go of the past.

Asgard and Jotunheim together had been resolute – no hardheaded fools would stand in the way of progress and peace any longer.

“Is it just me,” Volstagg mused beside him, glancing around at the alien, blue-skinned figures surrounding them on all sides. “Or are they growing giants smaller these days?”

It was true that some of the frost giants that had been sent as their escort did not, strictly, qualify for the name. “Ordinarily, I would say it was just you and your vast girth, my friend,” Fandral piped up. “But it is true that those Jotun born, shall we say, smaller or weaker than the rest have found fresh support as of late. Their Majesties are…particularly sympathetic, to their plight.”

One of the first joint efforts of the two kings had been to do what they could to stop the traditional killing of Jotun runts, even if it meant sending them to Asgard to live in exchange for their service. A surprising number of parents had seized upon it as a way to get rid of their unwanted children, and a surprising number of runts that had survived childhood only to be driven into hiding had emerged to take advantage of the fresh opportunities. Those who hadn’t departed entirely had found that there was always a place open to them in the king of Jotunheim’s court, particularly since Jotun runts were fast proving to have a genetic disposition towards magic.

“Yes, I suppose they would be,” Volstagg agreed with a nod. He took a fresh look around, then, as the cliffs and hillocks grew more pronounced around them, enough to keep off the worst of the snow, and added with grudging approval, “The place has certainly tidied up nicely, hasn’t it?”

It had, now that Hogun took a second look. At first, he hadn’t even seen the buildings at all, mistaking them for natural formations of rock and ice. Now that the snow was easing up, however, and now that he was really looking, it was evident that this was a deliberate choice. All the same, there were clear signs of habitation around them, of _community_. For the longest time, Fandral had been used to the idea of giants as wandering warbands or raiders, of hulking scavengers in the shadows. He hadn’t even known any sort of plants _could_ grow here, but there was evidence of concentrated efforts to farm the thick blue moss currently coating most of the rocky walls.

It was clear that they were passing through the outskirts of a city, with the wilds of Jotunheim growing more and more tamed and more and more giants being visible as they pressed on. The ones he could see out and about weren’t attacking, or preparing for an attack. They were going about what he could only think of as “daily lives” – bringing home food, tending to tools, harvesting the strange moss, talking to one another.

It was unworthy of Hogun to be surprised at such simple things, he knew, especially when one of his own friends could be counted among their number. Old prejudices were slow to fade, that much was undeniable. Even now, he didn’t doubt just by the looks they were getting from their honor guard and the giants they passed by that the Warriors Three themselves were the subject of the same doubtful scrutiny and the same reflection on old rumors.

Progress was being made, however. That was all that mattered. There were giants that came to Asgard to stay and Asgardians who actually came back from trips to Jotunheim. The Warriors Three were not the first delegates of peace and reconstruction to this frozen world, and it was hoped by all that they would not be the last.

Progress was being made, day by day and step by step, and that was all any of them could really ask for. All they could do was inch their way forward and stop other idiots dragging them back into the dark.

Hogun hoped once again, as the castle became slowly visible through the mist in the distance, that there would be a fire and food awaiting them. This was a daunting task they had been dealt, and a long walk to reach it.

Even those mundane thoughts were driven out of his head, however, as the castle came fully into view above them. Even he couldn’t quite stop an impressed sound from escaping him along with the other two.

None of them knew if this castle had existed before the war, or if the new king had used his power and people to construct it afterwards as a sign of Jotunheim’s fresh start. Either way, it had become an undeniably magnificent structure now that there were actually people living here. It looked more than a bit like a mountain itself, its walls and spires ascending from a broad base to form a distant peak. The ice that had helped fashion it, however, had been worked in such a way as to catch whatever scant light managed to make it through the clouds and reflect it a thousand times over, a thousand times brighter, so that it literally seemed to shine like a beacon or perhaps even a second sun. No one could look upon this structure and doubt that here was the seat of power for a new Jotunheim.

Their guards called for the gates to be opened, which they were by the three guards – two normal-sized Jotun, and a smaller one that left her perch on the first’s shoulders to scale the wall quick as a spider to undo a hidden latch. The crystal double-doors swung inward with barely a sound, and they were escorted across the courtyard and into the castle itself. The front doors were hanging open, and why wouldn’t they? The most biting arctic cold couldn’t bother a Jotun.

It could bother Asgardians, however, and that was why the Warriors Three let out a collective sigh of relief when they stepped into the throne room to find a merry blaze of green mage-fire burning in a pit in the center of the hall. There was really nothing to burn in Jotunheim, but magic could fill in the gaps nicely. The first impulse of most frost giants was to shy away from heat, but they were slowly learning that it had its uses.

Something very big and dead was roasting over the flames, and Hogun couldn’t blame Volstagg for fixating on it immediately. Fandral, however, had noticed something at the other end of the hall, and Hogun followed his gaze instead.

The hall was empty, beyond a few of the smaller Jotun skulking around as guards just in case. They were the king’s personal guards…and apprentices in the ways of magic. The king himself was lounging on his raised throne of ice, in a manner that would have oozed insolence if the ruler of an entire planet could be insolent. He hadn’t looked up at the arrival of the Warriors Three, but that was because he was busily wrapping up a conversation with someone else that only he could see and hear.

The sorcerer-king of Jotunheim cut a strange but imposing figure, dressed in a wild mixture of animal skins and furs and metal ornamentation beneath a green and gold coat that was undeniably Asgardian in style. He wore a helmet of leather and bone, bedecked with the actual horns of one of Jotunheim’s mightiest beasts and etched with eldritch designs. Perhaps the strangest part of all, at least to the Warriors Three, was to even see him as a Jotun, all deep blue skin and ridged clan lines and blood-red eyes, after knowing him for centuries in another skin entirely.

It was growing less and less strange every time, however. They’d all changed since then.

“Ah, yes, and here they are now,” the king was saying to a flickering phantom image before him. If Hogun squinted, he could just make out who it was supposed to be, and then he understood why Fandral was grinning fondly. “Ready to eat me out of house and castle but most certainly not frozen to death. Well, I suppose I had best hear the news they’ve brought me in person, and you had best return to work.” Loki smiled with undisguised affection, before banishing the projection with a wave of his hand. 

“We’ll speak again soon, brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. 
> 
> Just...wow.
> 
> I know I should say something pithy and eloquent right, now, I find that all that comes to mind are two words that no writer can ever say enough to anyone who ever reads this far.
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> Not to mention those two little words that every writer both dreads to face and longs to write with every tale they tell. The moment for them, however, has finally arrived.
> 
> THE END


End file.
